Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect or any of its characters. They are products of BioWare, EA and certainly not me. This fan fiction is for entertainment purposes; no profit or intrusion of copyright is intended.

Stepping on board the Normandy, Shepard strode towards the deck. "Edi, is everyone back on board?"

"Everyone is on board, Commander, and at their stations." Joker answered.

"Excellent," Shepard stated then slapped Joker on the back. "Rosetta Nebula. Alpha Draconis system. Get us in orbit of Aeia."

Grinning, Joker tapped his fingers along the console. "Aye, aye, Commander."

Leaving the bridge as the Normandy departed the Citadel, Shepard crossed the bay and passed the galaxy map on his way to the techlab. He activated his communications unit. "Jacob. Be ready. We're going after the Hugo Gernsback."

"I'll be ready, Commander." Jacob responded.

"Great, I'll get Mordin to come with us. Should take us a couple of hours to get there."

Jacob looked down at the pistol in his hand, turning it over to examine the stock. "Right here." He pointed to the where the stock soldered to the barrel. "This isn't the problem. It's supposed to look like this. I know, weird, but that's how these Kessler lines were designed. The problem is here, at the barrel, see? It's jamming here. Me? I'd say we toss these and use different pistols. These are just unreliable. My experience."

Sighing, Miranda motioned to the line of Kessler pistols on the table. "We just bloody acquired these. I didn't purchase any pistols because I was told pistol upgrades would be shipped. They were delivered." Pushing off the table in frustration, she raked a hand through her hair. "We should have opened the blasted crates right after delivery."

"Well, there's a simple solution. Repackage them. Convince the commander to make a stop on Omega and trade them. Even if we get less, we can get better equipment. Everyone doesn't need a new pistol. The Commander rarely uses his. Grunt doesn't carry one, neither does Samara. I only have one because its standard procedure to have a side arm."

Her thumb hooked under her chin, the side of her index finger pressed to her lips, she thought a moment, pacing to the lockers then back again. "Pack them up. I have an idea."

"Yes, Ma'am." Jacob agreed and gathered the offending pistols to repack into the crates.

Miranda left the armory and entered the elevator. "Edi, where is Commander Shepard?"

"Commander Shepard is in his quarters."

Miranda triggered the elevator for the Captain's deck. Leaning back against the mid height rail, she crossed her arms and waited impatiently during the slow climb.

Shepard sat in the swiveling chair at his desk, staring at the computer terminal. His finger rhythmically tapped a single button, cycling through the endless messages and updated codices. He read up on the planet, Aeia, and then all the available information about Jacob's father and the flight of the Hugo Gernsback. Memories flooded his mind of a time long gone, yet still fresh. The hunt for Saren, the Prothean beacons, his squad and his various decisions. Taking orders from the Alliance brass. Of course when he accepted each mission, he brushed it off as 'If I have time,' or 'I'll see what I can do.' But in reality, he dedicated every ounce of his determination to completing each mission, saving lives, doing the right thing. It compounded to the stress of being a Spectre.

Leaning back in the chair, he ducked his head into one hand, his elbow pressed into the chair arms to keep his head propped up. His gaze distant, he stared unblinking at the bright orange display of the terminal.

"Commander."

Mostly unresponsive, Shepard finally blinked. Turning his head towards her, he fisted his hand and pressed his mouth into the backs of his fingers. Dark circles marred the flesh under his eyes, wrinkles crinkled at the corner of his eyes and along his brow. Despite his usual strength and the appearance of endless stamina, Shepard slumped in his chair, tired, stressed and worn.

Miranda slowly tilted her head in observation. "Still haven't been sleeping? We were grounded for days."

"Is there something you want?" he snapped, curtly.

Arching a brow at his tone, she crossed her arms and lifted her chin, defensive. "Why am I still stuck on this ship?"

"Christ, this again," he muttered under his breath and splayed his fingers over his brow in a vain attempt to push out the strain.

"Yes, this again. Why am I even here if you're not going to utilize me?"

"Look, I don't know why you're here. I don't need this now, alright?"

"Really?" she countered. "There's a lot I don't need too, Shepard. But I'm here anyway. I'm an operative for a reason and instead I'm relegated to bridge duty because I got caught off guard once. How many times have you nearly been killed? So how about you stop jerking me around and give me a real reason why I haven't gone ashore."

Sighing, his hands dropped. "I've kind of got a lot of shit on my fucking plate right now. And I don't give a shit if everyone's feeling are hurt over who can't go to shore and who doesn't like what on the menu or my bed is too god damn hard! Ash, just drop it." The moment the words left his mouth, he moaned and closed his eyes, head tilting back. "Miranda. I mean … Miranda, look …"

Uncrossing her arms, she approached him and leaned over, pressing her palms onto the desktop to peer down at him. "I get it, Shepard. You're stressed. Overwhelmed. We all are. But you better get your bloody self together. Because if you don't? Somebody's going to get killed before we even reach the Collectors. And it won't be you. Life isn't that kind."

Forcing his eyes opened, his head turned slightly to meet her gaze for a second; he watched her leave.

At her desk, Miranda drew her fingers along the console, opening various cameras and arranging them appropriately on the front of her desk. Picking up her earpiece, she carefully tweaked the frequency and inserted the piece, adjusting it for comfort.

She set the screens carefully along her desk, adjusting the contrast to best see and tried the controls for zoom. As Shepard placed his visor on his head, she saw everything in front of him, beside him and to his left from the cameras she planted during the repair.

She remained quiet throughout the mission, observing and watching, tracking to ensure his safety. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his eyes focused, none flanked him nor had the upper hand. As Jacob killed his father, she turned off the camera feed.

Shepard lingered in the communications room after the hologram with the Illusive Man disconnected. Turning his head, he watched Miranda leave. "What do you mean, selective?"

Jacob followed the Commander's gaze. "Just like it sounds, sir. She'll remember things you tell her from years ago. I … I didn't think she'd remember this."

"For the Illusive Man to mention the protocols … she must have dug deep for you." Shepard noted. "You had a history?"

"You could say that, Commander," Jacob responded. "She was my handler for a couple of missions."

"And …"

"It's in the past," Jacob said, simply. "Like I said. She needs a better man than me. And don't let that cool exterior fool you. That's not all there is. There's more. You just have to dig a little." He saluted the Commander and took his leave.

Shepard stepped back as the table elevated at the center of the room and the hologram of the Normandy appeared. Turning his back on the slowly spinning visual, he left the Communications chamber, passed through the tech lab and waited at the elevator to the lower decks.

"There are new messages at your terminal, Commander." Kelly announced as he waited.

"I'll read them later." He stated flatly and stepped into the elevator. Emerging on the third floor, he crossed the mess hall and waved his hand over the sensor for Miranda's room. The sensor beeped obnoxiously, glowing red; the door locked. Frowning, he tried the sensor again with little luck. Muffled voices inside hinted her company. The voices quieted within seconds and the red light of the door sensor turned green. Pausing a moment, he waved his hand over the sensor and walked inside.

Miranda stood alone at her bedside, closing the drawer of the small bed stand and flicking closed the locking latch. Confused, Shepard looked around the room. "You alone?"

"Yes," she answered simply. "Can I help you, Commander?"

"I thought I heard voices. Your door was locked."

"Holocall."

"Oh …" he stood awkwardly at the door. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, I unlocked the door afterward." She left her private chambers for her office desk. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Quietly, he watched her a few seconds and when she arched a brow expecting, he sighed. "Sorry. Do you have a minute?"

"I do."

"Good. I … wanted to talk to you. About before." He sat in the chair in front of her desk, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He hung his head a few seconds in thought then looked up, eyes distant as he stared blankly at the hull. "You know, I thought it was stressful going after Saren. But … it never really stops. The stress just compounds until you're ready to pop."

"Usually, yes," she responded and crossed her arms. "Saren is dead. Why are you stressed over that?"

"It's complicated," he brushed off and pushed to his feet, approaching her. When she tensed slightly, he stopped, watching her. "I know you're not Ashley. I was just … I saw her on the Citadel and … I just need a god damn vacation."

Smirking slightly, she uncrossed her arms. "I don't believe I've ever really had one. So get in line."

He chuckled and reached out to brush his fingers along her arm. Sobering, his fingers lingered at her wrist. "The nightmares came back. Can't sleep. I need your help."

"I will do what I can, Commander. If you wish, I can take command of the bridge while you try to rest. Just let me know where you want to go. Or perhaps we can take a day or two and mine for some minerals."

Shaking his head, he stepped back, eyes on her face. "I don't mean professionally. I mean, I need you to do that thing you do. With your biotics."

"Ah, well alright then." She walked around him, pausing at her bed stand and pulled out the familiar small half rolled tube. "What hurts? Your shoulder?"

He followed her. "No. Well a little, but that's not what I mean. I want you to do it to my head."

She froze. "What?"

"My head has been killing me. And there's just too much shit going on. Stress. Memories. The nightmares."

"Shepard," she turned to face him. "What I do is purely physical. I don't manipulate memories. Anything I could do to your brain … if I slipped even a millimeter, I'd fry your mind."

"But you can calm it right? You've calmed my muscles. Why couldn't you do it for my thoughts?"

"They're not even remotely related." She paced from him, then back again, tube in hand. "You're a smart man, you must know that. Mental stress and physical pain are completely different. It would be like treating bipolar disorder with a pain reliever. Or a broken leg with an anti-psychotic."

"But you did it before. You said you did it, to stimulate my nervous growth, get my brain functioning again."

"That was different," she responded, frustrated. "You were a sack of meat on the table. I wanted to succeed but it wasn't the same as … It worked, Shepard. You're whole and functioning. Doing it on you now, when nothing is wrong with you would be dangerous."

"I don't understand. You said you were as powerful as some Asari."

"Well, yes biotically. But I don't mind meld or whatever they call it. 'Embracing Eternity.' If you need that, we should go back to Illium. Find Liara. Maybe she can help you if … do you feel frazzled? Your report on the last mission gave no inclination you were unsettled."

"I'm not unsettled," he quickly defended and took a step back. "Look, never mind. Forget I said anything."

When he turned to leave, she stepped forward, forceful in tone. "I will not forget. If something is wrong, we have to treat you. You're too vital to this mission to be less than one hundred percent."

"I said, never mind," he snapped. "Forget it." Without a second glance, he left the chambers, leaving a confused and concerned Miranda.

"Ash … Go," Shepard commanded and watched as she hesitated a long few seconds before finally obeying, disappearing down the smoke and flame filled hallway of the Normandy. The ship rocked and he gripped tightly at the hull to keep his balance, knees bending to absorb the shock. A nearby explosion startled him, close and he winced, turning his head away. Two bodies flew passed and smashed into the side of the ship before crumbling to the floor in scorched heaps.

Shielding his eyes and dodging blasting bulkheads and popping wiring, he slowly navigated the dangerous halls of the Normandy, weaving through the debris on his way to the bridge. The door to the top deck whooshed open and Shepard stepped out onto the tattered metallic grating. The top of the ship blown off, chairs, wires and metal sheets floated passed his head. Tilting his head back, he looked up and his eyes widened at the magnificent awesome sight of the nearby planet, cold and blue in icy silence. The quiet overwhelmed him, despite the explosions and fire. The eternal vacuum of space consumed all but the visual evidence of the Normandy's destruction.

Careful in his step, he crossed the way towards the cockpit, dodging floating and flying debris, eyes on the sky for fire, weapons or rock.

A thick haze filled his mind before he again focused; Shepard helped Joker into the escape pod off the cockpit. Another explosion tore through the bridge, shorting the consoles in a blaze of fire, smoke and shrapnel. Shepard lost his grip, flying backwards and away from the escape pod. Faintly, he heard Joker call his name. The Normandy tore in half, a thick powerful and brilliantly bright beam severed the center console, drawing a line and splitting the Normandy. In a last act of heroism, Shepard slammed the emergency ejection button, sealing Joker in the escape pod and firing it into space.

A massive explosion ripped through the rest of the Normandy, tearing her to pieces and ejecting Shepard into space like a piece of metallic junk. He tumbled and spun with the propulsion; he twisted to watch the remains of the Normandy disperse. Eyes scanned the expanse, spotting a few of the escape pods but he saw no details. Unable to stop his momentum, the gravity of the planet pulled on him as a satellite and tugged him towards its surface. A tube on the back of his suit near his head burst, air expelling into the vacuum of space. Another tube burst at the pressure release.

Air sucked from his suit and he lurched, reaching up to quickly fumble with desperate gloved fingers in a vain attempt to close his suit leaks. Another part of the suit ruptured as the planet pulled him down. Pressure immediately intensified as piercing pain overwhelmed his physical sensations. He tried to scream as the blood vessels in his body slowly swelled. The air entirely gone, he tried to gasp but with no atmosphere, his attempts futile. His lungs tensed then within a few agonizing seconds, his vessels burst, his lungs collapsed and the vacuum of space invaded his suit, crushing him as he fell towards the icy planet.

Eyes flying open, Shepard gasped awake, his chest tight and he struggled to breathe in the first few seconds of awareness. He sat on the couch in his quarters in only his casual pants, slouched down and half lounging. Two tablets rested on the table, one still flickering with scrolling data. Sweat glistened and beaded on his skin, one stubborn drop dripped into his eye and he quickly reached up. Squeezing his eyes closed, he rubbed at the salty liquid then blinked a few times to clear his vision.

Searching the dim quarters, his breathing slowed, controlled again. Moaning, he sat up and pressed both palms into his face, trying to rub away the vivid memory. He gasped again, short of breath as his body recovered from the memorized trauma of his death. Arms fell limply to his side as he stared at the dark bulkhead above.

Pushing to his fleet, he staggered slightly before regaining his balance. Yanking his shirt off his bed, he stumbled up the stairs towards the elevator, pulling the shirt over his head and tugging it down. He rode the elevator barefoot to the third floor. Ignoring the curious glances from the crew, he entered the training room. Alone, he clenched his teeth and punched his fist towards the console by the door, shorting the circuit and locking the door.

"System … alert."

Humming softly, Miranda's eyes fluttered open. Lying on her side on her bed, she stretched, extending her legs, pointing her toes as her shoulders pinched back. Turning her head slightly, she glanced towards her office.

"System … alert." EDI announced again.

Sitting up, she raked a hand through her hair, fluffing it back. "EDI, status report."

"System alert," EDI repeated. "System malfunction. Third deck, ward D. Training deck."

She swung her feet off the bed and stood to dress. "I need more details. What happened?"

"System … failure. Security protocols failed. Circuit 4 … 8 … 7 … B is malfunctioning."

"EDI!" Miranda snapped. "Turn off the bloody warning and tell me what happened."

"Apologies, Operative Lawson," EDI responded. "The VI maintenance system responds by default. It appears Commander Shepard is in the Training ward. The circuits shorted out on the door. I cannot open the doors to the Ward."

"How long?"

"I notified maintenance personnel," EDI explained. "The system has been shorted for six minutes, fourteen seconds."

Frowning, Miranda pushed her feet into the heeled boots, fastening them to her thigh. "I did not hear you. Was the alarm sounding for the last six minutes?"

"No. I only notified necessary personnel. When a second circuit board and my terminal malfunctioned, I released a system wide alert."

Adjusting the second boot, she buttoned the rest of her suit and walked to her terminal, tapping dexterous fingers. "Show me the security system."

"Security system malfunctioning. There is a short in the wires."

"Damn it," Miranda muttered then paused a second in thought. "EDI, show me the security cameras up until the time of the short."

"One moment, please. Systems processing."

Miranda watched, eyes scanning quickly at the display. Shepard walked into the training ward and paused as the door closed behind him. With swiftness, he turned and slammed his fist into the console, breaking the door sensor. Ignoring the warnings and the sputtering sparks, he crossed the room towards the cardio deck. Pausing before entering the system, he left the cardio deck and eyed the various weights and pulleys, expensive top of the line exercise and training equipment.

Slowly picking up one of the hand weights, he tested it then glanced over his shoulder at the exposed security camera. With a sneering growl, he hurled the weight at the camera. Miranda jumped; the feed died. Quickly swiping her fingers over the console, she turned off the display and left her office.

Down the hall to the port side of the ship, Miranda approached the two working technicians. One dug through a box of wires, screws and tools, handing over a set of cables. The second took the cables, and held them between his teeth as he reached into the small console. The console sparked and jolted him. He pulled his hand back with a gasp and brought his index finger to his mouth while he muttered a few choice curses.

"What's going on? Why isn't the door fixed?" Miranda stopped in front of the door, arms crossed impatiently.

"Operative," the man at the box greeted. "Circuit board is totally fried. We're working on it. But it'll take us a couple of hours at least to get it fully repaired."

"Not good enough," she stated flatly.

Nervously, he looked up at her. "I'm afraid it will have to be. We had a chance at it but then it sounded like a warzone in there for a few seconds and the whole board fried. No idea what happened."

"If you can't handle this, tech, we will find someone who can. Open this door, now."

The man at the console stood straight and brushed his hands on his pants. "With all due respect, ma'am, but you expect the impossible. There is no way to open this door without the circuit board."

Arching a single brow, she walked to them and peered down into the box. Eyes scanning quickly, she reached down with a single hand and plucked out two screwdrivers. Nervously, the man by the box stood. "Ma'am … Operative Lawson. What are you …" he trailed off as she approached the door.

Miranda patiently searched along the edges of the door, twirling one of the screwdrivers along her fingers in absent thought. Finally, gripping the handle of the screwdriver, she aimed carefully along the edges of the door's sensor then jammed the flathead between two nodes. She turned her face away as it sparked, shorting the sensor.

"Operative!" One tech exclaimed with wide eyes. "What are you doing? Those tools cost almost ten thousand credits a piece. The sensor is …" At Miranda's warning glare, he quieted. Leaving the door, she approached the console, eyes skimming the inside. Reaching in, she yanked out the sensitive circuit board and jammed the other screwdriver into the small conduit behind the circuit board.

The second tech raked his fingers through his hair in absolute alarm before whispering. "Six … more hours of repair! At least."

Fiddling with the second screwdriver, she watched the spacing at the center of the door carefully with narrowed eyes. When the door twitched, she held the screwdriver in place, testing and setting it until it triggered the electrical current to inch the door open. With a small half inch opening, she left the screwdriver in the conduit and picked up the hammer from the toolbox. "When I say open the door … I mean open … the door." She stated intensely and with a sneer, swung the claw end of the hammer towards the opening at the center of the doors. Pushing on the hammer, she pried and forced the door passed the safety point. Creaking and sparking, the door opened. The screwdriver jammed into the sensor fell to the ground, the metal stained black with char. Eyeing the two techs expectantly, she handed the hammer back to him.

"But … but ma'am. You … you just added … how will we ever fix the door now?"

"You should have thought of that, Diaz, before you told me you couldn't open it." Miranda snapped and stepped into the training bay.

She paused at the sight. Mirrors along the back wall shattered and splintered, the glass in crumbles and shards along the rubber floor. Dumb bells lay amidst the pieces. The large rack holding various weights of bar bells toppled, partially leaning against the side wall. Shepard sat at the far corner of the room on the floor, his back against the wall. Knees bent, his bare feet planted on the glass covered ground. Cuts and nicks on his feet bled from the glass; he ignored it. His head ducked, arms draped over his knees, hands hanging limply in defeat.

"Shepard," she called softly, watching cautiously. When he offered no response, she tentatively stepped into the room, guarded. She repeated his name; his fingers twitched.

Shepard turned his head slightly, glancing up at her with unmoved blank eyes. Resuming his position, he remained silent. He breathed slowly as she neared, her heels clicking on the metallic grating then crunching as she stepped along the shattered glass bits.

"Shepard, what are you doing?" she asked, coolly.

"Sitting," he stated, unflinching.

Miranda's eyes narrowed and she twisted at the waist to address the two techs still standing at the door. "Diaz, go get Doctor Chakwas. Or Mordin. Cooper, go do something else for ten minutes." At their momentary hesitation, she snapped. "Now!" They quickly obeyed.

He motioned towards her with a wave of the hand. "Did it occur to you that I didn't want to be interrupted?"

"And did it occur to you that as the XO of this vessel I will respond to system malfunctions and emergencies. If you didn't want to be interrupted, just lock the bloody door and don't destroy the place."

"Yeah … well it felt good."

"It's bad enough you're injured on nearly every shore mission, now you're practically self mutilating! Look at your feet!"

Scoffing with a soft chuckle, he shook his head. "Oh don't worry," he responded, tone mocking and snarky. "I'll be just fine for the next mission. Cerberus will have its glory as I'm sure you expect. Your pet will perform as needed."

Brow furrowed, she crouched to his level, balancing forward on her toes. "Shepard," She whispered, her voice unusually soft and gentle. He kept his gaze averted for nearly a moment before he finally tilted his head to peer at her. Her expression compassionate, the icy façade gone. Her eyes held his in understanding. "Is that really how you think of me?" Her question piercing in its gentleness, laced with lulling emotion.

His vision cleared as he searched her eyes and expression and he swallowed hard to quell the emotion rising in his throat – the hurt, the anger, betrayal and confusion.

She smiled sadly, lips twitching for only a second as she reached out with her hand, cupping his sweat slicked cheek with a cool palm. Brushing her thumb over his bottom lip, she searched his eyes. "How can you not see?" As quickly as she reached out, her hand dropped and she looked away to the door at the sound of footsteps down the hall, nearing rhythmically. The façade fell back into place.

"Miranda …" He husked and his eyes followed her as she stood. He reached for her, unseen and his fingers grazed her calf as she stepped to the door and the approaching Doctor Chakwas.

She glanced back at him at the brushing touch, met his eyes then turned to the doctor. "I apologize for waking you at this hour, Doctor."

"No apologies necessary, Operative. It is why I'm here," Chakwas looked around the room. "So … another training room. Commander, we have to stop meeting under these circumstances."

Shepard smiled at the doctor, sheepishly. "It's good release."

"That's what you said last time." Chakwas stated then crouched at Shepard's side. Pulling a small thin light from her bag, she twisted the head to turn it on. "Before, when we were with the Alliance, the Commander completely destroyed the training facility on the first Normandy," she explained and looked up at Miranda. "I would have suggested simply working out to relieve stress but the Commander seems to have other ideas on the best approach." She touched Shepard's cheek, pulling down slightly as she shone the light in his eyes. "Look up." The light shone in first one than the other eye. "Ok, follow the light … Good. Once more … ok."

"It always seems like a good idea at the time," Shepard continued with a half hearted smile. "After Udina grounded me on the Citadel I just didn't … I was so angry. It started as a work out, Doc … I was with Garrus. Then things just got out of hand."

"Out of hand," she repeated with a laugh. "You did manage to leave some parts standing. Not as thorough as you were last time."

Miranda watched the exchange cool and controlled. "I'll get you some boots." Without a second glance, she left the training room. A few minutes later, she returned with a pair of his casual boots and placed them at his side. Doctor Chakwas elevated both his legs, his feet propped high as she used a scanner to find and disintegrate any foreign particles of glass in his feet and applied medigel. One foot was already done. Miranda avoided Shepard's eyes, watching the Doctor. "Submit your report, Doctor, on his injuries when you're finished."

"Of course, Operative," Chakwas responded professionally. Miranda left.

Shepard limped down the dimly lit hallway, his boots unfastened. Withholding a wince at the discomfort, he passed the elevator and turned the corner towards Miranda's chamber. Four crewman sat at the table in the mess, laughing. They fell quiet at his approach and eyed him curiously. As he neared Miranda's quarters, one whispered to the others; Shepard couldn't hear it. He didn't care.

Waving his hand over the sensor for her door, he entered Miranda's office. The lights dimmed low, haunting. His eyes sought her form standing near the bed by the bed stand, a beautiful profile view. A long slender glass gripped by delicate fingers and filled with a pink liquid drew his attention. She ignored his presence and tilted the glass to sip the potent liquor.

She swallowed and he licked his lips. "Miranda," he managed to croak her name. Clearing his throat, he stepped further inside.

Sighing, she plucked the cap off the bed and twisted it back onto the small bottle of liquor. Opening the drawer of the bed stand, she laid the bottle back inside and drew the small bar lock into place to keep the drawer from opening during flight. "What is it, Shepard?"

The resigned and defeated tone twisted into his gut. Closing the distance between them, he stopped beside her and tentatively reached out, thick finger tips brushing the small of her back. She shivered; he rejoiced. When she tensed, his hand paused then fell back to his side. "I'm an ass. I know." He joked lightly and smiled nervously.

"Sometimes … you can be." She offered him the slender glass, half filled. "But I'm a bitch. So we're even."

He chuckled softly and took the offered glass, finishing the rest of the liquor, his eyes unwavering from her face. The strong alcohol burned down his throat before settling in his empty stomach. Warm. Calming. He handed her the glass. "Quite the pair …"

She hummed her agreement and took the glass, setting it into the grip of the coaster on her bed stand. "Is there something you need?"

"Yeah … you." His voice deepened with the words and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Silence lingered after the words as she searched his gaze. Finally, arching a brow, she challenged him. "Me? Really."

"You," he repeated and stepped closer to her.

She turned to face him and took a step back, eyeing him and chin lifted in confidant defiance. "Not Ashley?"

"Not Ashley," he affirmed and moved closer.

"Could have fooled me," she stated flatly, any emotion hidden behind the well fortified walls.

"I just saw her. She tried getting me back to the Alliance. To follow her on some planetary mission. Was just thinking about the past. That's it. I made my choice and I don't regret it. I'm here. I'm Cerberus." He explained, simply then sighed. "It's stress. But I'll be fine."

"Stress is understandable," she offered, professionally. "You never really had the chance to break yourself from your first mission with Saren and cope with everything that happened before you were thrown into another."

"And I still have Alliance brass hounding me," he continued, eyes on hers. "Hackett contacted me. Wants me to see to some sensitive issue with a friend of his captured by batarians. Some undercover scientist now in a terrorist camp. I should get her out soon. God only knows what they're doing to her."

"They still think they can give you orders?"

"Seems everyone thinks they can give me orders," Shepard growled. "Alliance … Illusive man … Aria … I'm just everyone's little bitch."

"No, you're not," she defended intensely. "You do what they say because you are actively making the decision. You could tell them all to go to bloody hell if you wanted to. But you don't. Because that's not you. You help people, defend the innocent and you think fast on your feet. You recognize when others are right or have good ideas and you adopt them for your own. Just because you do what others suggest or take on private contracts does not make you their bitch. It means you've made the decision yourself. No one can force your hand."

Her words settled over him, soothing some of his doubts and he offered a crooked smile. "You're God damn amazing, you know that?"

"I know," she shrugged casually with one shoulder. "It's the perfection."

He chuckled at the flirtatious tone and kissed her softly once then slowly again. Stepping closer, he draped his arms around her waist and pressed his forehead to hers in a delicate and intimate gesture. "Help me, Miranda. I don't know what's going on. I just … I can't sleep. The nightmares are back. I don't feel right."

She eased him back, watching him with concern. "What do you mean?" The delicate touch of her palm on the side of his head belied her professional tone. "What's wrong?"

Sighing, he paced a few steps away then towards her again. "I don't know. I remember you saying that if I wasn't exactly as I was then the Lazerus Project failed. Well I hate to break it to you, but I think you failed." He sat heavily on her bed and shook his head. "I used to be so … good. I helped everyone. Innocents. Soldiers. Hell even enemies at times. I trusted people, wasn't jaded. I pursued Saren relentlessly but I never let that change my morals. I did the right thing. I always did the right thing."

Drawing his hand over his mouth, he tugged on his lips a second before resting his arms on his thighs, leaning forward to look at her. "Now? Everything is so grey. I do the right thing not because I actually give a shit, but because it's what I'm expected to do. I'm not supposed to agree with slavery so I coaxed that Asari to free her quarian slave. But I did it just because it was what I should have done. Not because I cared. I just … I don't care anymore, Miranda." He ducked his head. "I don't care if they cure the Genophage. I don't care if I'm ever an Alliance soldier again. I don't care about the collateral damage or the families of the people I've slaughtered in the name of my own goal. I just … don't … care. And that's not like me. What the hell am I even doing here? I was dead and … what's the point?" He paused a moment before whispering. "What's the god damn point? There was nothing you know." He looked up at her. "After I died. Just pain … then blackness. Just blackness. Then I awoke on a god damn table, looking at you. So if there's nothing … who even gives a shit? What the hell am I fighting for?"

"How dramatically apathetic and existential of you," Miranda commented flatly though her tone hinted at amusement.

"What?"

"Nevermind," Miranda shook her head. "First of all, you're under a lot of stress right now. Because if you were truly apathetic and didn't care? It wouldn't bother you that you don't care. What bothers you is that you have been on this never ending epic quest to save the galaxy and you're tired. You're tired of being the great hero. You're tired of being an icon. You're tired of feeling you have to make every little decision in order to accomplish some greater goal. You certainly care before if you didn't, you would have left Garrus for dead after the gunship shot him. You would never have done what you did for me after the Red Sand. You wouldn't have let that Eclipse sister go while we were trying to help Samara. Should I keep going?"

Crouching before him, she gently touched his arm. "You may be a bit more jaded now than before. But after everything you've been through, I think it's understandable. So you don't take anyone's crap. You have less patience. You obviously still have anger issues." She pressed and when he chuckled, she smiled. "See? It's all normal, Shepard. It's a bloody miracle you're here at all and still managing to function after everything you've been through. You are so strong willed … look at what you've accomplished."

A few seconds of comfortable silence passed as he stared at her hand on his arm. Glancing up at her, he smirked teasingly. "Jealous, again?"

"Never," she responded with a grin. Sobering, she continued. "You want to know what the point is? For the future. Survival. Not just for us, but for our species. Whether there is or isn't an afterlife, I don't know. I wouldn't expect you to remember anything if there was. But even if there is nothing. If we die and there is nothing. Don't you think it's worth fighting for yourself? Do you really want to be captured and turned into a husk? Do you want to be like Saren? A slave to the Reapers? Or do you want to live free? A man of your own mind." She paused, waiting for a reaction before continuing. "Whatever you need for motive … use it."

He nodded quietly in thoughtful reflection. When Miranda stood, he looked up at her. "Can you do that thing you do? With your biotics? It helps me relax."

Offering a soft smile, she opened the drawer at her bedside. "Of course," she pulled out the small half-rolled tube then closed the drawer. "Does one place hurt or need extra attention?"

He moved back on the bed. "I wouldn't mind some special attention … but I have a feeling that wasn't what you meant." He husked and reached for his shirt, pulling it up over his head. He tossed it towards the couch.

Rolling her eyes, she squeezed some of the cool gel into her palms. Leaning down, she flirtatiously whispered. "We'll be at our destination in two hours … maybe if we had more time."

Growling, he shook his head and turned to lie on his stomach. "Tease … if I lay on my back, will you straddle my hips?" He grinned at the thought and closed his eyes

She laughed and crawled onto the bed, kneeling at his side as she rubbed her hands together. "I believe if I did that, we wouldn't have any biotic massage."

"Yes we would." His grin broadened.

Pressing her hands into his back, she moved them slowly. "Try not to move. It will hurt at first."

His teeth clenched and body tightened, muscles taut as the biotics penetrated his body. Subconsciously he resisted the first few seconds. Forcing himself to breathe, he finally sighed and succumbed to her. Soon the addicting and familiar warmth then cooling deep tissue massage began. He moaned and snuggled deeper into her pillow, unashamed as he inhaled deeply to gather her scent. Humming her name, he relaxed fully. Sleep came quickly.

She continued the massage for half an hour, easing every muscle and every nerve of his back and shoulders. Certain of his comfort, she finally stopped and pulled back. Her hands crackled with the remaining power. Sweat slicked her skin, dampening her hair along its edges and behind her neck. She licked her parched lips and watched his sleeping expression.

Twisting at the waist, she reached towards the bed stand and opened the drawer. She took out the small envelope and emptied its contents into her hand. Placing the envelope back in the drawer, she carefully pinched the chip, watching his sleeping expression. Squashing any doubt or resistance, she leaned over him and carefully placed the chip behind his right ear. Once in place, she hesitated as her eyes skimmed his strong stubble covered jaw, the lines of his mouth than the relaxed expression.

She licked her lips again and set her jaw. Carefully, she pushed his ear shell aside and reached down with index and thumb. She managed to pinch the chip, but its tendrils already extended as it burrowed into his skin. She bit back her curse, trying once more to remove the bug, but too late, the bug implanted.

Closing her eyes, she released a sigh and reached out to smooth her fingers over his scrunched brow. She kissed his ear then whispered. "I'm sorry." Drawing gentle fingers along his jaw, she eased off the bed and quietly walked to her desk.